I sit behind the fence and smile. Each crack of the bat gives me hope that they will have a successful night.
Forty-five minutes to go until the first pitch. The park is quiet and the encouragement is positive.
“Just like that , Keegan.”
“Come on Danny, you got this.”
‘Keep your head up, Brandon.”
Eleven little boys, their stomachs twisting and their minds racing, focus their energy on the task at hand: win this and make it to the championship game.
Nervous energy buzzes, and baseballs criss-cross from third to first and home to second. They’ve done this many times, skip the directions.
Kicking their heels into the dirt, reaching for the fly balls, pounding their gloves, it seems easy as they warm up.
Adults chuckle as they overhear two little ball boys talking in the dugout, “Who cares if they are the best team? They won’t be after we beat them!”
The dark clouds are rolling in and I fear a thunderstorm. I don’t want a game delay. I don’t want to postpone a win or a loss until tomorrow.
I refuse to give up hope. I believe in the underdogs.
I love my little underdog. I love his attitude and his in-his-favor reasoning. He told me at dinner, “In the movies, the underdogs win, you know that, right?”
Yes, they do, buddy!! Yes, they do!
By the look on his face, I guess you can tell what is happening tomorrow night!!
This post is part of The Daily Post’s Writing 101 challenge.
Go to a public location and make a detailed report of what you see. The twist of the day? Write the post without adverbs.